


Three Times Divine

by JamieAvenBell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is fed up waiting, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), He just wants to marry his demon, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Same-Sex Marriage, for all the logical reasons, like tax benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:56:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieAvenBell/pseuds/JamieAvenBell
Summary: Aziraphale keeps asking Crowley to marry him but the demon doubts his seriousness. Desperate, the angel starts listing all the right, most logical reasons.





	Three Times Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siberianchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siberianchan/gifts), [SonyB89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyB89/gifts).

> Well, who's sitting outside the horseboxes in the middle of the darkest night, watching a gazillion of stars and trying to get this story up? My vacation spots always have the most shi.... wifi-connection, except for some weird spots. :D (Otherwise it's nice here, serene and beautiful late summer.)

Part of their respective jobs as a guardian angel and mischievous demon on Earth was spying on the other party and trying to find out the next plans to thwart/evilize them. The Arrangement™ made their assignments far more comfortable Crowley and Aziraphale took every chance to coincidentally meet while eating, enjoying a theatre play, … Centuries passed by and they got bolder, their offices did not seem to notice, did they? Therefore, Crowley spent a lot of hours feeding ducks on a particular bench, just humoring his angel. Plus, he often spent a lazy Sunday morning at the book shop. As a snake, since Aziraphale would always look out for him. He coiled up on a patch of sunlight or rested on a cloud-like cushion in front of the fireplace as Aziraphale babbled on.

He was not allowed to materialize his wings, too risky, but a good stretch was also ni… a very hellish thing to do. Sloth, probably.

„Crowley, my dear, have you heard?”

“Mhm…” At least he wanted to answer, but it sounded more like sleep-drunken hiss as his split-tongue tasted the air. The distant smell of old books, a very fine blend of Earl Grey and angel.

“Same-sex marriages will be legal, starting March 13th, next year.” Aziraphale set down the newspaper he had been reading while sipping on his cup of tea. “Crowley, would you please look at me?”

The demon lifted his head and blinked lazily. It was such a nice feeling to drowse in the sunlight. Some decades ago, he agreed that Aziraphale would read the newspaper or tell the neighborhood gossip to find new inspiration. A little heavenly influence granted after digging through the lost and found section. But, sloth, indeed, the words had washed over Crowley and lulled him to slumber again.

“My lovely demon …”

A feeling warmer than sunshine rushed over his snake body, like a heavenly heatwave. Funny that he felt that odd sensation from time to ti…

“Will you marry me?” 

Crowley shot up with a hiss. He had never been awake faster. “Wha-what?”

“Will you marry me?”

Crowley sat up straight, alarmed. Within the blink of an eye, he turned back into human form, didn’t fit any longer on his spot and crashed onto the floor; limbs tangled up on the windowsill. This was a joke, right? Some kind of test? No. He made sure that no demon ever knew about his Sunday morning naps at the bookstore. No trap of Hell could recreate that distinct angel-second brew of high-class Earl Grey tea leaves-bookshop smell.

Eyes trying to focus, he took in his surroundings. His angel was relaxing at the small coffee table, sleeves scandalously rolled up to the elbows due to the scorching heat outside. The newspaper was set on his legs as he watched Crowley expectantly. He waited for a reply, eagerly, but didn’t push.

Just a hint of a smile, mocking him for his new seating position.

“Just think about it.” Aziraphale started to list up reasons. “All those tax benefits spouses have.” 

Crowley pinched his arm discreetly. No, he was awake. But dreaming. For sure. 

“The tax authorities will go nuts if they have to account us together, especially with our two lodgings and jobs. And then my little excursion at being a gardener …” He smiled almost devilishly. “Your investment manager will get bold if he has to browse through two hundred years of most accurate accounting, trying to understand how this shop survived for decades.”

“Your angel’s love for bureaucracy is showing …”, Crowley sneered with no malice and hauled himself up. Sitting on the sunny windowsill was alright in human form, too.

“My accounting is flawless.”

Crowley waved his hands defensively. “That idea is kind of evil, you know. Even for you …”

“Is it?” His angel arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’m just stating all the right reasons.”

Crowley blinked, tried very hard to process the words and blinked again.

“So? What’s your answer?”

“Not happening.” Crowley went back to sleep or at last, e pretended to. Taking a nap on his small perch had to look ridiculous. Still, this whole conversation was ridiculous. Better opting out quickly.

There was a rustling of paper, soft steps approaching. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

“Darling”, Aziraphale poked him gently.

But Crowley just changed into full snake mode, coiling on himself on the sunny spot. “That’sssss jusssst a dream, not real, when I wake up, it’ssss jussssst a dream.”

He didn’t get Aziraphale frustrated sigh.

* * *

Aziraphale let the topic slide but as far as angel’s memories were concerned, he never forgot a thing. He still remembered all the delicious restaurants he has visited, even before the word ‘restaurant’ was a thing. So, he definitely would not forget that his demon owed him an honest answer.

Then, after several days of heavy downpours and inky grey clouds hanging low over London, Aziraphale seized the hopefully right moment.

With Armageddon approaching fast Aziraphale had started to sort out his possessions, he wished the world would not end, he had done his best to influence Warlock, but just in case, he couldn’t leave his shop in this state. It was a ridiculous thought, probably just a way to ease his tingling nerves. If the world went up in flames, his bookshop went up in flames neatly. Crowley, surprisingly, agreed to help, sorting, writing inventory lists and de-cluttering bits and pieces. Six thousand years and Aziraphale had hoarded silly souvenirs all over the place, which left an angel and a demon reminiscing if they could smuggle something up above or down below. Just in case. 

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale approached carefully, he did not want a repetition of the snake-opt-out. “Have you thought about it?”

“You mean, the new Thai place around the corner?” Crowley placed down a few tomes next to him. “I’m still a little under the weather, spicy food should heat up me just fine.”

“No, you wily serpent.” This time Aziraphale didn’t suppress his sigh. “Will you marry me?”

(The long-forgotten costumer two rows in the back who was a literature student, too broke to even dream about buying these books, gasped.)

“This again?”, Crowley replied but decidedly dodged the angel’s view. “The joke’s not funny, angel.”

“I’m not joking. I’m serious.” Aziraphale pried the book out of Crowley’s fingers. His demon played the calm and nonchalant card, but he gripped the book so hard, his knuckles had turned white. “My dear Anthony J. Crowley, will you marry me next spring? As soon as we are allowed to?”

(The student took the first opportunity to dash and run. He needed to tell his study group about this miracle. They had always speculated that Mr.Fell fancied men, but he was even worse than being an aromantic ace, as his fellow students suspected. Poor boyfriend. That shitty propose must have stung.)

“Well, think of the first-hand experience,” Aziraphale continued but started to wring his hands. He would come up with all the logical reasons until Crowley agreed. “We would be one of the first same-sex spouses, you could propose down there how to wile those legal forms and how to double … no triple the paperwork and data handling. All these instances where same-sex couples now have the same opportunities. Surely, you will get a medal for it. Or whatever reward Hell likes to give out.” 

Crowley’s glasses were askew and golden eyes looked at him dumbfounded. “You want to marry me …”

“Well, yes, I said so and …”

Crowley cut him off. “For the sake of the Arrangement?”

Now, Aziraphale sputtered. Hadn’t he made his point clear? The idea had sounded so simple. Crowley would not be convinced romantically, then he needed to be persuaded. 18th-century men had gone lengths to be an appropriate, well educated and wealthy husband. But since Crowley was, literally, rich as hell, Aziraphale had chosen the benefits for his assignments. 

This proposing ordeal was much more difficult than all the novels let him think. Should he have chosen the ‘Mr. Darcy route’? Act coldly but declare his unbound love in the end?

“Well …?” Aziraphale tried to sound cheerful but failed. “What’s your answer?”

“Are you kidding me!” To his surprise, Crowley raced to the coat rack and put on his thin jacket. “The world ends in a few weeks and you are wasting your time on stupid human customs. Wake up, angel, the world will be goo soon. There is no ‘next March’ or whatsoever!” The bells jingled sharply as Crowley wretched the shop door open, yelled “I don’t need a fucking job promotion! I’m a demon, for someone’s sake!”, and left.

With a sigh, Aziraphale searched for his first edition of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. “The Mr. Darcy way, then …”

* * *

Armageddon’t came and went – unnoticed for most of the humans. An angel and a demon successfully fooled their respective head offices with a little switcheroo and went celebrating at the Ritz. But setting aside the benefits of being free agents (the unlimited time, no more odd messages in the Bentley, no more heavenly paperwork) their relationship didn’t change much. They were still meeting in parks, getting utterly sloshed at the bookshop and sometimes Crowley’s apartment, too. They were still glancing over their shoulders, now and then, fearing Hastur or Gabriel might be plotting for revenge.

The first month passed. Nothing strange happened. The second, the third and as Crowley started to relax Aziraphale was getting impatient. It was silly, they knew each other for six millennia, they’ve passed decades without speaking to each other. And now, he wanted to pull his hair out and shake Crowley because he had forgotten to answer him.

In fact, there was no progress concerning their relationship at all. They were more open, hands brushing, a quick embrace as a hello, sitting next to each other – the hiding, sneaking and conspiring in the darkest corners stopped. But otherwise?

Stressed and frustrated, Azriaphale started to renovate the book shop. Adam’s restructuring had brought him a few dozens of new books, that’s why Aziraphale decided to sort and re-organize everything that was within his power. Free from heaven’s reign, he scrubbed of the sigils and started to consider the shop as his real home, not just a place where he could store his possessions and fend off costumers. He even bought furniture for the upstairs flat.

It didn’t matter what he did, Crowley did not pick up on his clues. Or didn’t want to. Or couldn’t understand them. He ignored the massive amount of endearments (a wild range from ‘dear boy’ to all things considered serpent and his lovely trickster nature). He brushed off the compliments about his lush plants, his beautiful eyes, the delicious new restaurants he picked. Just replied a curt “Angel, I know, you lost your heavenly host, but please, I’m nothing you should be flattering. Demon, remember? Want me to combust thanks to your holy glory?”

As if Aziraphale had possessed strong connections with the rest of the angels, being the only one who stationed full-time on earth.

(“Fuck the ‘Mr. Darcy Route’!” The angel swore, one evening after Crowley brought him home to the bookshop and left in a hurry. “Nothing bloody works.”)

So, book sorting, it was. Building up a life, considering a real business with newer books. Keeping the humankind literate, well-informed and well-educated seemed like a good job for a free agent. Chattering with humans just for the sake of conversation and free-given advice was quite refreshing and pleasing.

But hiding his feelings for Crowley, his love, his longing, his adoration, his desire to care for him, to touch him, to call him his own, to make him his own … all that made him lonelier than ever before. Before he had a reason to spend less time with a hereditary enemy. Now, Crowley just didn’t want him that way.

Still, angels were able to pick up love. He was certain he felt Crowley’s love, he was certain all that surprise visits, the little gifts, the bickering, the stares, the suppressed smiles ... were signs of Crowley’s love. But Gabriel had often called him incompetent angel, not worthy of his Principality status. Was he? Wasn’t he able to differ Love from friendship and familial bonds?

Therefore, Aziraphale turned into a bundle of nerves, frustration and utter pining, which snapped four months past Armageddon’t as he was dining with Crowley at the _Brasserie Zédel_; one of the few places in Soho you could confuse with Paris.

“The registration for same-sex marriages is open since today”, Aziraphale said after his dessert arrived. He did not sound offended or sad or hurt he sounded like commenting on the interior design.

“This again?” Crowley leaned back in his chair. He didn’t pick up the hidden frustration either. 

“Yes, this again.” Aziraphale set down his cake fork with too much force but miracled away the sudden crash.

Crowley nipped on his coffee. “Good for them. Heaven is all turned upside down since our little stunt a few months ago, this will probably go unnoticed.”

“Love is love, isn’t it?” Aziraphale snapped but Crowley took it in as an insult for his former colleagues.

“I’m not making the Christian rules, angel.” Crowley shrugged. “I’ve heard some priest are screaming bloody murder otherwise it’s mostly calm.” 

“They are not interested in human affairs and laws, remember, it’s just paperwork for _them_. Besides … same-sex marriage will be a feast of love and unity and …“ Aziraphale started to rant, clutching the nice white table cloth with his hands. He desperately needed a better reason, something Crowley would agree on.

“And on top of that, I could finally shut up that evil woman from across the street who’s cussing at me since 1987… 85, I think, for being… well me. All those haters and narrow-minded people making a fuss about it. No more bullocks at the Ritz accusing you of being my rent-boy. We are on our side, my dear, why not make it official?”

Again, Crowley’s sunglasses tipped off his nose, his cup of coffee halting mid-air. He opened his mouth, swallowed and closed it with a click. 

“The world turned not into goo, did it?”

Crowley shook his head, dumbfounded.

“So, do you remember my question?”

“Your question? What?” Crowley set down his coffee cup, all muscles taught as if he wanted to run.

The last straw then. Begging, pleading his demon would fulfill his biggest wish. It was selfish, he borderline forced his will on Crowley, but either this or he would crash his demon against the next wall and kiss him senseless. The kiss wasn’t essential, though, he could live on the next six millennia without being intimate. Hand holding, cuddling, he would even try sleeping for Crowley … But he had given up everything for him, he did it gladly, for being an item, he would have died for Crowley to keep him safe, would repeat it anytime again.

All he needed was proof. Crowley would never whisper to him, _I love you_, not even in the deepest night. He didn’t touch him, aside from necessity, he …

All Aziraphale wanted was proof of their own side, of their connection, something visible he could clutch onto when his mind plagued him with bad decisions, blood-soaked memories war-ridden centuries and nightmares where Crowley showed his real demonic side.

“Angel, what? Why are looking as if you want to strike me with your flaming sword?” Crowley almost coiled up like a snake, tried to make himself as small as possible, as Aziraphale stood up hastily, straightened his jacket and went down on one knee. In the middle of the restaurant.

“My dearest”, he gently picked up Crowley’s ice-cold shaking hand, “my lovely demon, beautiful trickster and companion for life longer than I’ve imagined.” He turned down his determination, his almost heavenly glow, and decided for a soft, besotted smile. “Will you marry me?”

* * *

Crowley sat frozen on the spot. The third time. Three times divine. “You’re playing unfair now”, he almost squeaked.

“Maybe I am.” Aziraphale shuffled on his knee, edged closer and cupped Crowley’s cheek with his free hand. “Is it working?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. He tried very hard to ignore the stares, the whole restaurant went silent, holding their breaths for his reply. The bloody bastard chose a public place where he couldn’t stomp off anymore.   
But why? Why did he torture him this much? Crowley knew angels loved all things and nothing in particular. They couldn’t reciprocate love like humans, they did not pursue human relationships. So why did Aziraphale keep up his charade? Why did he act like he was wooing him, trampling on his feelings unnoticedly?

Was he making up for their fights pre-Armageddon’t? Was he looking for an insurance that Crowley did not leave, and he ended up all alone, one very lost angel on Earth?

“So, do you want to marry me?” Aziraphale’s blue blue eyes swam with emotion, his gaze never leaving him. Again, a feeling warmer than sunshine rushed over him. “It sounds like the logical thing to do.” His angel’s smile was mischievous though. 

In fact, all his excuses were irrelevant. He loved his angel. Ever since. Unconditionally. Dreamt for centuries how it could play out: a life as husbands, all things entitled. Dreamt how Aziraphale would cherish a broken, torn lowlife, troublemaker and outcast. 

“Oh, angel,” Crowley could barely hold back a laugh. This was ridiculous, this was pretending all over again. But pretending that Aziraphale loved him was sweet torture and a thousand times better than losing him. “Yes, I will marry you.” He helped his angel stand up and the restaurant exploded with cheers. “For all the logical reasons.”

* * *

On March 29th in the following year, Crowley and Aziraphale were one of the first gay couples to be married officially. It neither happened in a church or during a big ceremony, although the angel thought about a nice reception in Tadfield, sometime during the almost perfect summer.

Crowley and Aziraphale decided on a private civil wedding. Got a little speech, signed their documents, exchanged a chaste smooch and went home with an official marriage certificate. This was just a little piece of paper in the eyes of heaven and hell, a very human symbol. Otherwise, everything else religious was banned. No weird hopping and burnt feet on their very special day.

The whole day, Crowley had been fidgety and jumpy and even grumpy to the clerk who explained their ordeal for the last time and ushered them into a waiting room. The ceremony itself lasted a couple of minutes and suddenly, they were standing in the hallway, sticking out in their black and cream-colored suits like two sore thumbs.

But Aziraphale couldn’t stop smiling. Married. At last!

Until Crowley grabbed him at the wrist, ran down the corridor and pulled him into the next empty room he could find.

Sorrow and doubt and hopelessness and fear were oozing out of Crowley, making the air grew sticky. He turned away from him, strolling into the room.

“What’s wrong, dar-darling?” Aziraphale’s voice wavered a bit, unintentionally. For a second, he wondered if he had taken his small, personal temptation too far. For another cruel long second, he feared Crowley would tear up the certificate, claim all this a big failure and leave him for good. 

“Angel, I …

Aziraphale braced himself for heartbreak, he should have never forced Crowley to do this … He crossed a line, there was no turning back anymore.

“I love you. I love you so much, my beautiful angel, and … I did not want to marry you for tax benefits or to get promoted but I wanted to marry you to marry you.” Crowley raked his perfectly styled hair desperately. “That came out wrong. I love you, angel, I even bought rings, but you were so nonchalant, so businesslike, breezing through this like buying a new car and I thought … it felt like I was a new addition to you, something to possess after losing your heavenly connection. But I wanted you to know that I …”

Aziraphale stopped his ramblings as he drew close and fished for a small box in Crowley’s jacket pocket. With a click, the box opened and revealed titanium rings. Sleek and shiny, nothing that would draw to much attention but was really, really hard to break.

“Oh, darling, I know.”

“You do?”

“Well, yeah, I really hoped I was right.” Aziraphale picked up the smaller one and put it on Crowley’s finger with ease. His beloved demon looked as he would discorporate just from sight. “A few years ago, I said, you go too fast …”

“No, no, no, no!” Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s lips, silenced him and drew back at light-speed as if he got burned. “Don’t remind me on our wedding day …”

“I love you, too, Crowley.”

“Ngk.”

“That was not the response I’ve hoped for.” Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped down. “Did I misunderstand something?”

Suddenly Crowley’s lips were on his and their kiss was far less innocent than the last one. Aziraphale plunged, forced Crowley to step back until he hit a desk – the next thing he knew, Crowley was sitting on top of that desk, an angel wretched between his spread legs, hungry tongues devouring each other, breath mingling, as Aziraphale buried his hands in flaming hair and Crowley desperately clutched his hips for balance.

“Azira-aziraphale, angel,”, Crowley heaved as they parted, “you’re so smart, please, tell me …”

Instead, he kissed along Crowley’s jaw, wandering down his neck, nibbling, tasting, licking. His lips told a story of love, he wanted to write it on all of Crowley’s body. He soaked up every mewl and every gasp of his demon, it was a symphony they conducted together. Only they could sound like this.

“Why did all those proposals sound like some misplaced joke? Why all that dumb reasoning?”

Aziraphale drew away reluctantly, but he inched even closer, fingertips softly stroking Crowley’s neck. “I love you.” He couldn’t stop. He would never stop again.

“That’s not an answer for every… wait, say it again.”

“I love you.”

Crowley blinked. Then, their foreheads touched, gazes melting into each other. “Again,” he whispered.

“I love you.” It was exhilarating how easy those three words slipped over Aziraphale’s lips. Eight letters and he could converge all his feelings into them.

“You are that heatwave!”, Crowley suddenly explained. “That sunshine feeling, that cozy sense of safety was all you!”

“I guess?,” Aziraphale admitted sheepishly.

“Why did you never tell me the truth?”

Aziraphale sent him a pointed glare.

“Demon, remember? Who would ever love a de…” Aziraphale shut him up with a kiss. He did. He will. Always. No wonder humans could do this for hours, intimacy was addictive. Feeling Crowley writhe under his fingertips, the heat of his tongue, _loving_ him was far than better any legal pledge of marriage.

With a snap of his fingers, he could transport them to a bed which they wouldn’t leave until they consummated their marriage satisfyingly until he wiped all doubts from Crowley’s mind and cherished him so that he would sense his love a decade from now.

But he owed his husband an answer and he was eager to reply.

“I’ve tried to tell you subtly, that I’ve caught up, but it didn’t work … But then I’ve got tired of waiting and sped things up.” For good measure, Aziraphale pouted a bit. “So, if you don’t mind, my dear husband, would you finally put my ring on my finger? Or should I do that, too?”

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, same-sex marriage was established in the UK in 2014 but I bent it a bit to fit better. Bear with me. ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


End file.
